


Acts of the Flesh

by SEABlRD



Series: Deliverance [5]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, M/M, Priest!Nikandros, Unresolved Sexual Tension, angel!Damen, demon!Laurent, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEABlRD/pseuds/SEABlRD
Summary: The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, and debauchery; [...] envy, drunkenness, orgies, and the like.I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.-----Road tripping with two immortal beings isn't particularly easy.- some not-exactly filler for @Tyranno's (and mine) Deliverance ‘verse! time to sneak in some plot :3c





	Acts of the Flesh

“I can’t believe we stole a car,” Nikandros breathes, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. In the backseat Damen hunches a bit to make up for his impractical height in the compact car.

“ _You_ stole a car,” Laurent corrects, running his claws over the sleek wood dashboard. He twists almost imperceptibly in his seat, and Nikandros can hear his spines lightly scraping against the upholstery of the seat. “Damen and I are just passengers in your hellish criminal escapade.”

“You said we needed a car!” Nikandros protests, the priest already sweating at the very thought of the theft. “You said we had to start making tracks!”

“I said we have to pick up the pace, not necessarily by grabbing the nearest tin can on wheels,” Laurent lifts his nails to look at the cheap polish shavings caught on them in disgust. He lets his head fall back against the headrest, his ponytail squishing under the pressure. “This isn’t even a nice one. I feel like there’s been some sort of miscommunication between us.”

“You and me both,” the priest grumbles, eyes darting to the mirror for any signs of squad cars. “Besides, is it really stealing if Damen convinced the owner to give it to us in good faith?”

“Yes,” Laurent says, at the same time Damen says ‘no’.

Flexing his hands on the wheel, Nikandros decides to ignore both of them. “Why do we have to get there so fast, anyway?” He asks instead. “I thought this thing you guys are after has been going on for decades.”

“Centuries,” Damen interjects, nodding at his reflection in the rearview. “I don’t know why we’re going faster, but Laurent says something big is happening.”

“It’s getting hotter,” Laurent says, eyes glazing over as he stares straight out onto the road. “I can feel it. He’s planning something big, and soon.”

Nikandros frowns and looks at himself; he doesn’t feel much warmer than usual, and he isn’t sweating. Damen seems similarly unaffected, but then again Damen is much colder than either him or Laurent anyway.

“It’s not a physical heat, twit,” the demon snaps, returning to lucidity. “All demons feel the heat of Hell. Some are more sensitive to it than others. Earth isn’t usually close enough to Hell to be hot, but it’s getting hotter and we need to put an end to that before it gets worse.”

Nikandros looks in the mirror at Damen, who shrugs. “I’m an angel,” Damen states. “I don’t feel Hell, but I _do_ feel Heaven, and something’s definitely going on up there but I don’t think it’s particularly dangerous.”

“Fine, okay,” Nikandros sighs. “We’ll get to wherever you’re feeling this heat, pal, and when you guys stop it from getting worse I’m holding you both to your word that you’ll make it up to me, _capiche_?”

Both Laurent and Damen nod solemnly, and Nikandros takes it for agreement because he’s put way too much on the line at this point for them _not_ to make it up to him. Then again, he’s carting around a money-ignorant angel and a demon who likes to toy with him. Arguably not the most beneficial decision he’d ever made, but hopefully one of them gets the concept of equivalent exchange.

When the sky darkens enough that none of them can see the road anymore, Nikandros pulls into the first available motel to stop for the night. Thankfully none of them have much in the way of suitcases, and they’re set up in the room quickly enough. Laurent heads out to scout for dinner of some sort, leaving Damen and Nikandros to unpack.

Nikandros drops himself into the cheap motel couch with a grunt, pulling his whittling knife and lion pin out of his bag and inspecting the pin for any imperfections. When he finds none, he settles himself in for a long night.

Further in the room, the telltale glow of Damen’s wings floods the corner. Nikandros watches, entranced, as the angel combs his fingers lazily through the bright feathers. He stops at a spot near the shoulder and scratches it as if it’s itchy.

Laurent comes into the room through the opened window, holding a paper bag of fast food. He puts the bag on the bed, dismissive of the grease stains it’s no doubt leaving. “Damen, what did I tell you about opening your wings and open windows?” He says, frowning as he pulls the blinds tightly shut.

“Not to?” Damen sheepishly puts his wings away before Laurent can touch them.

“That’s right. Now be a dear and get us some drinks from the machine around the corner, would you? And shake a damn leg, I’m dying for the taste of soda.” Laurent presses three dimes into Damen’s hand and gently shoo’s him out the door. Only when the angel is out of sight, the door shut behind him, does Laurent pull the unmarked bottle out from under his shirt. He takes a heavy swig and chokes it back with a cough.

“That looks like awful stuff,” Nikandros remarks, smelling the alcohol from across the room. “Can you even get drunk?”

Laurent turns his eyes on him and they flash black for a brief second, the only outward lapse of control the demon shows. “‘Course I can,” Laurent shakes his head. “Just takes a lot more than you. It’s food that does nothing for us, demons or angels. Funny that, isn’t it?”

“So why bother with alcohol if you’ve got to drink so much of it just to get drunk?”

“Needed something that burns more than the Gate,” is the cryptic reply he gets, and he resigns himself to another night of not being informed of the situation. “Damen hates it when I do this, says I tend to-” the demon waves a clawed hand dismissively. “Lose focus. Or control. Or both. I’m good at hiding it, now.”

“Is it good, at least?” Nikandros asks, exasperated.

“It’s rot gut,” Laurent barks out in laughter and takes another deep pull from the bottle. it’s almost half empty by now. “But it dulls the pain, and that’s what counts.”

The confusion must show on his face because Laurent looks him dead in the eye as he sets the bottle down on the bed, propping it up against the pillows so it doesn’t spill. He slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off despite Nikandros’ protests. When the demon bares his scaled spine, wings snapping open, the priest shuts his mouth with an audible click.

There, starting near the small of his back and spreading over half the leather of his wings, is a dispersed cluster of white feathers. They’re still growing, from the looks of it, some still have the protective shaft around them, making an absolutely appalling, bloody mess of the surrounding skin. Nikandros can only describe it as frostbite and third-degree burns having an unpleasant affair in a back alley.

“What… what’s that?” He asks, as if he can’t very well see for himself that Laurent is growing feathers. They flicker between dull, pale grey, and a faint but unmistakable glow. _Angel_ feathers.

“Proof I’m becoming too nice, according to Damen,” Laurent shrugs, expertly hiding the wince that comes with the movement. Now that Nikandros knows, much of Laurent’s outward discomfort makes more sense.

“... Does that happen? Is that a thing that can happen?” Nikandros demands, getting up and reaching for Laurent to get a closer look, only stopping when the demon fixes him with a cold look. “Can demons just become angels by being…. good? Angelic?”

Laurent continues to glare at him for a few seconds, then turns away with sagging shoulders. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t remember it ever happening, before.”

“But angels can become demons, if they fall from Grace,” Nikandros says, remembering the story of Lucifer. “Surely the reverse is also true, if a demon redeems himself somehow, and you’re living proof that it can happen.”

“I don’t know!” Laurent repeats, a growl tinging his speech with rage. The temperature in the room spikes dangerously, and the lamps flicker. “I don’t know if it’s possible, all I know is that it hurts a fucking lot!”

Nikandros realizes, suddenly, that Laurent is much drunker than he’s letting on. “Is there no way to ease the pain?” He approaches more cautiously, almost close enough to touch Laurent if he wants to. He doesn’t want to. “Have you tried pills, or anything else besides alcohol?”

Laurent laughs, baring his fangs. “Of course I tried. I tried everything, short of ripping them all out. And they don’t heal, you know? It’s like having a permanently open wound both physically and in your mind, and it burns like a bitch. I suppose all that’s left is to be as hellish as possible to make them fall off. Go back to my demonic roots, if you will,” Laurent rambles, words beginning to slur at the edges. He turns hooded eyes on Nikandros, running his tongue over his fangs.

With a gulp, the priest begins to back away, making a stuttered excuse about going back to his whittling, when a clawed hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and _pulls_.

“Or maybe,” Laurent purrs in his face. His tail, normally wound around his waist like a belt, curls over his shoulder and he flicks the arrowhead end of it like an annoyed cat. “Maybe your god can take pity on a poor, lost soul like mine?”

“I- I’ve never absolved a demon before,” Nikandros plays it as a joke, nervously leaning away from Laurent’s predatory look. “I’m not sure ten Hail Marys is enough for you.”

“I doubt there’s repentance for me,” Laurent shakes his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes as it escapes the tie he’d put them up in. “But I can still try confession, right?”

“I suppose-” Nikandros starts, and almost jumps out of his skin when Laurent falls to his knees before him. The demon lets go of his shirt in favor of grabbing his hips, stilling him in place with inhuman strength. The way Laurent looks up at him makes Nikandros shiver, and he’s not sure if it’s in fear, or something else. He tries not to analyze it too much.

“How does it go, again?” The demon sways in place, holding onto Nikandros to steady himself. His head rolls to the side, exposing the pale of his neck. He grins up at Nikandros’ dumbstruck expression, fangs pressing indents into his bottom lip. “Oh, right. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”

The sound of a key turning in the lock freezes Nikandros in place, when inexplicably he finds himself back in his chair, his knife and lion pin in his hands. He wonders, momentarily, how he got here so fast, but then again he isn’t fully aware of the extent of Laurent’s arsenal of abilities yet. Damen pushes the door open just as Laurent pulls his ‘pyjama’ shirt on, looking appropriately surprised at his lover’s return.

“Took you long enough,” Laurent scolds, grabbing one of the cans in Damen’s arms. He cracks the tab open and takes a long sip, all traces of drunkness gone.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure which one you wanted,” Damen explains, handing one can to Nikandros and keeping the third. He heads to the bed and sits on it, causing the bag of now-cold fast food to bounce. “I asked one of the ladies on the street corner which is most popular flavour, and took three of that kind.”

Everything else the angel says goes straight over Nikandros’ head, the priest more focused on the growing spot of black blood on the back of Laurent’s shirt, visible as the demon comes around the bed to lean over Damen’s lap to grab his own food.

When Damen is more focused on the cold hamburger Laurent bought for him, Laurent picks one of the remaining boxes and tosses it haphazardly in Nikandros’ direction. He catches it without making a mess, thankfully, but he glares at the demon in displeasure anyway.

Laurent glances at him over his shoulder, the look in his eyes purposeful. The corners of his mouth pull upward in a smirk and he winks, the spade of his tail brushing over the bloodied spot and the stains slowly evaporate. He raises a single finger to his lips, the playfulness in his expression turning serious.

Nikandros is a terrible liar, he knows this. Laurent knows this. But Damen is trusting and believes him, taking most of his words at face value. Meeting Laurent’s gaze, he mimes pulling a zipper closed over his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> little bit of important stuff hidden inside a pillow of filler... :3c  
>  ~~is my lowkey priest kink showing~~
> 
> don’t forget to start with Heavenly Flesh for the progression order!!  
> thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
